Her hometown hero, p.9
Her Hometown Hero, page 9
He released a deep sigh.
If only I could go back to that day.
Trey replayed it over and over in his mind, trying to connect the dots. How could the insurgents get close enough to ambush us? They had to have had help from some of the locals.
He drank from the bottle, determined to finish it off. Trey needed to get rid of the evidence in case Leon had Renee spying on him.
Now I’m being paranoid. My brother wouldn’t do something like that to me.
The rain dissipated around 5:30 a.m.
Feeling somewhat at ease, Trey turned off his music and lay down, hoping to sleep for a couple of hours. He needed to have his mind right by the time Gia arrived.
CHAPTER NINE
“GOOD MORNING,” GIA GREETED brightly when Renee opened the door.
“Morning to you, too. I have to run, but Trey’s in his room. I heard him moving about, so I know he’s up.”
Gia stepped inside and headed toward his bedroom then knocked on the door. “Trey, it’s me.”
“Come in,” he called.
She studied his face after opening the door. Fatigue had settled in pockets under his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m f-fine...”
His words came out slurred.
“Have you been drinking?” Gia asked. A wave of disappointment washed over her.
“Yeah,” Trey said. “I had a bad night.”
“The storm?” She wasn’t surprised that the heavy rain made him uncomfortable. The thunder left her a bit shaken as well, but with Trey dealing with PTSD—his fears were magnified.
He nodded.
Arms folded across her chest, Gia stated, “Alcohol isn’t going to help you.”
He grinned. “It makes me feel good.”
“Did you call the VA Hospital like I suggested?”
Trey shook his head. “I don’t need counseling, Gia. Right now, I just need to lie down. My incisions feel like they’re on fire.”
“Did you take the pain meds?”
“No. I was drinking.”
Gia held back her frustration. “This is not the way I expected things to start. I know that you’re hurting emotionally, too, but the healing has to start somewhere.”
His facial features were contorted in anguish. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are, but I’m gonna need you to try harder.” She paused a moment, quietly assessing his condition. “Why don’t you rest today? I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“For your information, I didn’t intend for this to happen,” Trey said.
“Take some aspirin. It should help with your headache. Before I leave, I want to check the wound area for swelling.” Gia pulled his covers back, revealing his boxers.
“What if I weren’t wearing anything?” he asked her.
“Then I hope you’re not shy.” She slipped on a pair of gloves and deftly removed his bandages. “I’m going to rewrap your limbs with elastic bandages to help control swelling and help the incisions heal. I’m also going to put on shrinker socks. These will assist in shaping your amputated leg.”
“How long do I wear them?”
“Anywhere from six to twelve months,” Gia responded.
“Wow, that’s tight,” he uttered when she’d finished.
“They’re supposed to fit snugly to apply pressure to the soft tissue of your limb.” Gia straightened up, then removed the gloves. “Get some rest. We’ll get started tomorrow. No excuses or exceptions.”
“I didn’t know you were so bossy.”
Gia smiled. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
She’d given him a pass this time because of what led to the drinking. The bad weather last night had triggered Trey—likely igniting flashbacks of the explosion. Like her father, he’d resorted to alcohol to help him relax.
She hoped tomorrow would be a better day for him.
* * *
“GOOD MORNING, TREY,” Gia said the next morning, entering his bedroom without knocking.
“Is it?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun when she drew back the curtains and opened the blinds. “What are you doing?”
“Letting in some sunlight and fresh air. Looks like you’re dealing with another hangover?”
Trey didn’t answer. He felt achy and exhausted. Nightmares had plagued him again last night until he’d reached for the bottle of rum. He drank until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
“Get dressed,” Gia said. “It’s time to do your stretching exercises, unless you prefer to do them in your underwear.”
He groaned. “I don’t really feel like it.” Trey felt as hollow as his voice sounded.
“Trey, you committed to this regimen.”
“I’m just not up to it right now,” he snapped. He thought he was ready for PT but now Trey wasn’t sure. Was it really worth all the pain he’d have to endure? Maybe it was just too soon. He needed more time.
Gia lifted her chin, meeting his icy gaze straight on. “What you’re not gonna do is talk to me like that,” she countered. “I know what you’re trying to do, Trey. You want me to walk away. To give up on you, but that’s not gonna happen.”
She headed to the door. “I’ll be in the living room waiting on you. But first I’ll make you a cup of red ginseng tea. It should help you recover from your hangover.”
Trey sat up in bed. Gia meant what she said. He knew she’d be outside his bedroom waiting.
He made his way into his wheelchair and went to the bathroom, regretting his decision to take physical therapy in the first place. But then he thought about his family, and Trey didn’t want to let them down.
He didn’t want to let Gia down, either.
* * *
RENEE WAS IN the kitchen when Gia entered. “Was Trey up?” She was thrilled her cousin had decided to finally agree to physical therapy.
“Not really,” Gia responded, “but I made it clear that I’m not leaving. I gave him a pass yesterday, but not this time.”
“What happened yesterday?” Renee asked in confusion. “He didn’t have his session?” She’d assumed the therapy had gone well when Trey didn’t mention it. But then again, she’d gotten in late the night before, so they didn’t have too much of a conversation.
“He wasn’t up to it.” Gia pointed to one of the mugs. “Do you mind if I make a cup of tea? It’s for Trey.”
“Sure, that’s fine. I need to speak to him before I leave for work.” Renee walked out of the kitchen. She was going to talk some sense into Trey.
He had just gotten out of the shower when she burst into his room.
A towel over his lap, Trey demanded, “Hey, can a man get some privacy around here?”
Renee glared at him. “I can’t believe you...”
“What?”
“All Gia’s trying to do is help you. She told me you didn’t do your PT session yesterday and then you weren’t even prepared this morning. Why are you acting like this?”
“I had a bad night, Renee,” he responded.
“I love you dearly,” she said, “but if you’re going to act like this, then you don’t need to waste Gia’s time. She could be working with a patient who actually wants her help.” Placing both hands on her hips, she ordered, “You’re a marine. Act like one!”
* * *
RENEE’S WORDS HAD the desired effect on Trey. “Rah...” he muttered. His cousin was right. Despite all that had happened, he was still a marine. That would never change. His actions needed to reflect this truth.
“If you’d give me some privacy, I can get dressed,” Trey said begrudgingly.
“Good. Don’t keep Gia waiting too long. I’m about to head to the boutique, but I expect to hear all about how hard she worked you during PT when I get home later this evening.”
“I’m sure my body will be protesting in pure agony,” he said.
“You got this, cousin.”
He gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Renee.” She had every right to be irritated with him—Gia, as well. He was being difficult. He felt bad about his actions and vowed to turn things around from this moment forward.
“See you later tonight. I shouldn’t be too late.” Renee left the room, closing the door behind her.
A few moments later, Trey wheeled himself into the living room. “Let’s get started.”
Seated on the couch, Gia handed him the mug. “Drink this while I check your incisions.”
She had a firm but gentle touch.
“You’re still a bit swollen. Are you icing like you’re supposed to?”
“I am,” Trey said.
She picked up a black bag and unzipped it. “I’m going to change your compression bandages.”
When she was done, Gia explained, “The first phase of this therapy is pre-prosthetic training. We focus on your range of motion, knee flexion, stretching and strength training.” To help with manage his pain, she explained they’d also do manual therapy, which included joint manipulation and soft tissue mobilization.
“I read in your medical report that you told the doctors at Walter Reed you didn’t want to be fitted for a prosthesis.”
“Not at that time,” Trey said, trying not to flinch as she had him perform a couple of stretches. “I was in a lot of p-pain.”
“I think you should reconsider your decision. Most people who’ve had transtibial amputations do well with them.”
“Is it too late?” Trey asked.
“No, when your incisions are pretty much healed, you can have it done then. You’re gonna also have to have a sufficient amount of strength to be able to walk with a prosthesis. Right now, the immediate goal is to get you to master wheelchair mobility.”
Trey met her gaze. “Do you really think I’ll be able to walk again?” He trusted Gia to tell him the straight truth. He didn’t want the possibilities—he wanted a more definitive answer.
“I do. You may need to use an assistive device such as a cane, but yes...you’ll be able to walk and become more independent.”
“I guess we’d better get busy then,” Trey said. He was hopeful for the first time since the incident. Just the idea of being able to stand up and walk around the house, walk on the beach... A thread of excitement snaked down his back.
Grinning, Gia replied, “I’ve been waiting on you.”
Halfway through the hour, Trey was in pain and ready to quit.
“C’mon...it pays to be a winner,” Gia said.
He looked over at her and smiled. He’d used that same phrase to push his teams to their maximum potential during physical training on base.
With renewed resolve, he pressed through the rest of the session.
* * *
TREY SURVIVED THE first two weeks of grueling physical therapy. He found himself looking forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays—days he didn’t have PT.
He kept watching the clock because he was looking forward to his visits with Leon and the family. He’d wanted to order dinner, but Misty volunteered to cook—an offer he wasn’t about to turn down.
Leon used his key to enter.
Talei was the first one inside, pushing past Leon. “Osiyo, Uncle.”
“Hello, cutie,” he said, hugging her. “I’m so glad you came to see me.”
“I missed you.” Pointing to the bandages below his knees, she asked, “Does it still hurt?”
“Sometimes,” he told her. “But it’s getting better.”
“Will you come see me dance at the powwow in Charleston?” Talei asked.
“I’ll do my best to attend.” Deep down, Trey wanted to be there for his niece but wanted to avoid the displays of sympathy he often glimpsed in the faces of strangers.
Talei interrupted his thoughts. “Do you want to play a game with me?”
Trey smiled. “Sure. What are we playing?” He loved being around his niece. She always brought a smile to his face.
Talei broke into a wide grin. “Go Fish.”
“I hope you’re ready to lose.”
She shook her head. “I’m not gonna lose, Uncle. I beat Dad all the time.”
“I used to beat your dad all the time, too.”
“Sweetie, don’t believe that,” Leon said from the doorway of the living room.
Talei retrieved a deck of cards from her backpack.
Trey shuffled them, then dealt seven cards to them both. He placed the remaining cards face down in a pile.
“Talei, you can go first.”
She smiled. “Uncle, give me all your fours...”
Thirty minutes later, when they were at the dinner table, Leon leaned over and asked in a whisper, “How many times did you let her win?”
“Let her win?” Trey repeated. “Only the first time. Talei was on it tonight.”
“I hear Gia’s not taking it easy on you at all.”
“She’s not,” he confirmed. “As much as I enjoy seeing her three days a week...man, I can’t wait for her to go home.”
Leon chuckled. “Whatever she’s doing must be working. You’re looking better.”
“I’m definitely getting stronger,” Trey said. “And I can work this chair without wearing myself out.”
He sampled the roast beef. “Misty, this is delicious.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” she said.
“More potatoes, Mommy...please,” Talei said.
Misty spooned some onto her plate. “Here you go.”
“Wado.”
“Hawa, sweetie.”
Trey knew that Talei had thanked her mother in Cherokee. “Hawa means you’re welcome?” he asked. Misty’s mother, Oma, was full-blooded Cherokee and had taught her daughter and granddaughter the Tsalagi language. A former performer in powwows, Oma had also passed on her love of dancing to both Misty and Talei.
Misty nodded. “Yes, it does.”
He spent the next couple of hours talking with Leon and Misty while playing with Leo and Talei. Trey was grateful for the company. This was one of the rare times he didn’t want to be home alone with his thoughts.
He’d managed to get through the days and nights without so much as a drink in the past twelve days. Probably because Gia worked him to the point of near exhaustion. Trey hadn’t realized just how out of shape he’d gotten, but he wasn’t going to give up. He didn’t want to disappoint Gia or himself.
After his brother left with Misty and the children, Trey went to his room.
He’d just prepared for bed and turned on the television when his cell phone rang.
Just as he answered, news flashed across the screen of another explosive ambush in Afghanistan. Trey began to shake as the fearful images built in his mind.
“Hello... Hello... Rothchild...” a familiar voice on the phone shouted.
Numb, Trey said, “Greg...tell me what happened.” His stomach was clenched tight.
“I was hoping to reach you before you saw it on the news. They found the insurgents responsible.”
“It says two people died.”
“Trey...”
“Who? Where they from Whiskey Company? Just tell me.”
The room seemed to do a slow spin and he began to tremble.
“Yeah.”
“Who?” Trey demanded.
“Barco and Sykes.”
Trey uttered a string of profanities as a wave of profound grief washed over him.
“I’m sorry, brother.”
Tears ran down his face. He swiped at them. “You said they found the ones responsible?”
“Yeah. They’re the same ones who took credit for what happened to you and the others.”
It didn’t make Trey feel any better. “Barco’s only been married for a couple of years. He just became a father in February. It ain’t right...”
“I know this doesn’t help, but at least they did take down the insurgents in that area. They were being helped by one of the locals.”
After the call, Trey sat there for hours just staring off into space. He felt a numbness spreading within.
* * *
A SHADOW OF annoyance passed through Gia when she took one glance at Trey, studying him. “You’ve been drinking again.”
She could tell he’d detected the hint of censure in her tone. “A-And...” Trey slurred. “So w-what...” Pointing to the door, Trey said, “Then you can leave.”
Gia sensed there was something more going on with him, prompting his rude behavior. “What’s really going on with you? I’m not leaving, so you might as well talk to me.”
“Did you hear about the attack yesterday in Afghanistan where two marines died?”
“Yes...” she responded cautiously. A wave of apprehension flowed through Gia. She dreaded hearing what Trey was about to tell her.
“They were my brothers. From my platoon.” Water filled his eyes. “I wake up each morning thinking this has been a terrible dream. I can still feel the shock of the explosion. I remember waking up in the hospital from an induced coma...taking one look at the bandages and crying. I’d lost my legs, my entire team. Just when I started to feel just a measure of normalcy—I lose two more brothers. You can’t understand what that feels like, Gia.”
“I haven’t experienced what you have, but Trey, I do understand it because my father went through something similar. He lost his best friend during the war and the use of his arm. One thing’s for sure—getting drunk won’t help. Too much alcohol makes it harder to cope with stress and your trauma memories. Getting drunk can actually increase some PTSD symptoms.”
“It’s the only thing that makes me feel better.”
